O rising Sun, so fair and gay, <br />What are you bringing me, I pray, <br />Of sorrow or of joy to-day? <br /> <br />You look as if you meant to please, <br />Reclining in your gorgeous ease <br />Behind the bare-branched apple-trees. <br /> <br />The world is rich and bright, as though <br />The pillows where your head is low <br />Had lit the fields of driven snow. <br /> <br />The hoar-frost on the window turns <br />Into a wood of giant ferns <br />Where some great conflagration burns. <br /> <br />And all my children comes again <br />As lightsome and as free from stain <br />As those frost-pictures on the pane. <br /> <br />I would that I could mount on high <br />And meet you, Sun--that you and I <br />Had to ourselves the whole wide sky. <br /> <br />But here my poor soul has to stay, <br />So tell me, rising Sun, I pray, <br />What are you bringing me to-day? <br /> <br />What shall this busy brain have thought, <br />What shall these hands and feet have wrought, <br />What sorrows shall the hours have brought, <br /> <br />Before thy brilliant course is run, <br />Before this new-born day is done, <br />Before you set, O rising Sun?<br /><br />Frederick George Scott<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sunrise-2/
